


Dean Needs Pie

by inkdr0p



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Castiel (Supernatural), Busty Asian Beauties (Supernatural), Bye Metatron, Castiel Does Not Understand (Supernatural), Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Loves Pie, Episode: s08e22 Clip Show, Fluff, Fluff in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Human things are hard, M/M, Pie, Sam Winchester Knows, The Impala (Supernatural), how do eggs work?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25023181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkdr0p/pseuds/inkdr0p
Summary: Remember that time Castiel went to buy Dean some pie but never got to deliver it because Metatron showed up? Well screw that. Dean’s getting his pie, and a few other things.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 68





	Dean Needs Pie

Dean needs pie.

He needs other things too, more practical things, more objectively necessary things, but Castiel knows that the most important thing Dean needs is pie. Thinking back over the myriad truck stop and gas station transactions that he’s witnessed while travelling with the Winchesters, Cas has a good idea of what the other things are. He also noticed that no one -- not any one of the 352 other people he’s seen at gas stations or motels over the years -- needed pie. But he knows that despite what the empirical evidence says, despite the sample size and the data points and the illogic of it all, Dean needs pie.

Castiel also knows that knowing something isn’t the same as doing something, and that humans don’t seem to pick up on caring unless it’s demonstrated.

Castiel knows that he screwed up, that Dean needs pie, and that Cas needs to bring him some.

\--------------------------

Castiel blips himself out of the bunker and flashes just on the invisible side of the veil past a succession of places that are either convenient or a store until he finds one that is both convenient _and_ a store. The only person who sees him materialize outside the front door is a man driving a cement mixer which he promptly crashes into a fire hydrant in surprise, cement leaking everywhere and water shooting thirty feet into the air. It’s not a big deal.

Cas walks in, grabs a hand basket, and begins his quest.

Magazines are important for road trips. Well, they’re important for the time spent in hotel rooms in between driving. Dean can’t read while driving and he probably can’t do the other things Cas knows he does with magazines while driving, not unless he wants to break the rule that says to keep both hands on the wheel. Castiel looks up and down the magazine rack, spinning it slowly while browsing the covers in intense concentration. 

He thinks _Guns & Ammo_ might be a good choice, but when he “reads” it (actually just touching the cover and absorbing the content in a single burst of information) he’s disappointed to find there isn’t a single article about salt rounds or witch-killing bullets or top ten reasons to bring a grenade launcher to a demon summoning. Cas doesn’t understand why anyone would want to read such an unhelpful magazine.

When he finds the copy of _Busty Asian Beauties_ , Castiel does not stop to preread it (there’s no need), and instead just pulls it from the rack and puts in his hand basket next to two tubes of powdered donuts and a package of beef jerky.

Cas does hesitate though when he sees the issue of _Playgirl_. There’s a dark-haired man wearing only a cowboy hat on the cover and Cas is sure Dean would enjoy reading it, but he’s not sure Dean knows that Cas knows that Dean would enjoy it. It’s not that Cas has been deliberately prying into Dean’s sexual fantasies, but there _were_ those times that he popped into Dean’s dreams before he knew that wasn’t a socially acceptable thing to do. Dean only remembered the dream at the lake, but there were others. There were also the times Cas materialized in the bathroom with Dean, in the bedroom with Dean, a second time in the bedroom with Dean, right next to the bed while Dean was “reading magazines”, _on_ the bed while Dean was “reading magazines”... (“I’m sorry Dean, I failed to properly account for galactic drift while calculating my landing coordinates. The Virgo Supercluster can be tricky.”)

In the end, Castiel tucks the issue of _Playgirl_ into the copy of _Busty Asian Beauties_ before moving on to more important things like toilet paper.

He’s scowling, unblinking and focused on the toilet paper that’s clear across the small store, when he nearly walks into a display of fruit proclaiming “2 bananas for $2!” Castiel squints, tilts his head, tries to understand why the signmaker didn’t reduce the fraction. “One banana for one dollar” is a much clearer statement of unit cost and uses lower numbers. Low numbers seem like they would be beneficial when trying to entice people to buy things, but a glance around the store dispels this notion. So many things have “99” written on them, the numbers large and bright and dramatic, as if the high value holds some special significance. If 2 is better than 1 and 99 is better than 2 then surely... Castiel touches two fingers to the sign and helpfully alters it to read “Infinite bananas for infinite dollars, provided your infinities are equal” then turns away from the display. Somewhere in his vast cosmos of a mind, Cas is vaguely aware that Sam would probably like one or two or an infinity of these bananas. But Dean wouldn’t, so Cas continues toward the toilet paper.

Castiel’s never been quite human enough to learn from personal experience what toilet paper is for, but he has some ideas. After their encounter with Famine, Dean had been sure Cas was about to find out but had somehow managed to avoid whatever Dean was cracking jokes about. His vessel felt a little funny, and then it didn’t, and he was fine. The one thing he’s certain of is that toilet paper is important. Critical, even. He’d heard the panicky desperation in Dean’s voice when he realized there wouldn’t be any in Purgatory, and he’d heard Sam shout about it from behind the closed door of more than one questionable truckstop bathroom. Yes, Cas should get some toilet paper.

Behind the toilet paper is a refrigerated case full of milk and water and other water that’s colorful and other painfully colorful liquids that aren’t water, liquids that Cas is sure -- based on the function of warning colors in nature -- must be highly toxic. It seems unsafe to store those next to things intended for human consumption. Oh and there’s also beer. Castiel thinks back to the time he drank an entire liquor store, filters the contents of the case in front of him against the 87 different beers he tried, sorts by cost, flavor, overall value, the weather, accidentally throws a bunch of ERROR!s on the spreadsheet he’s mentally chugging through, cleans them up, and grabs a six-pack. The several-billion-year-old angel who’s just performed instantaneous complex qualitative analysis in his head forgets to close the refrigerator door before he walks away.

Cas sees motor oil and wonders if Dean needs any. Castiel isn’t really sure what motor oil does (“It is oil. For the motor. ...Or perhaps made of motors,” Cas thinks), but he knows that Dean makes an almost religious experience out of draining the oil from Baby and then filling it back up again. Cas glances around quickly to make sure he’s not in anyone’s line of sight and flies back to the bunker’s garage. He’s been materialized for less than a second when he realizes he has no idea how to check a car’s oil, and spends the rest of the second moving out of the way of the person whose space he inadvertently flew directly into. 

“Hello, Dean.” Cas says to a bewildered Dean Winchester, who only has time to open his mouth before Cas blips back out of existence, the sound of flapping wings the only indicator that he was ever there. “What the fuck,” Dean probably says.

Cas still isn’t sure if Dean needs motor oil. And when he notices that there are many different kinds in many different colored bottles he’s even less sure of what to do. He could buy one bottle and hope it’s the right one, or he can buy one of each but there are twelve different options and that’s just too many to fit in his little basket. Castiel sighs. This is extremely complicated. 

Five seconds later Cas reappears in the garage and deposits twelve bottles of motor oil on the workbench Dean is leaning over and then immediately disappears. “ _CAA---!_ ” Dean says. 

Castiel reappears in a slightly different spot in the convenience store and finds himself facing a refrigerator full of processed meat and processed cheese and (unprocessed) eggs. Dean is very enthusiastic about breakfast, both preparing it and eating it, and Cas knows eggs are considered to be a traditional breakfast food, so he figures Dean would like some eggs. He knows you’re supposed to squeeze certain fruits to check that they’re fresh and ripe (some are supposed to be hard and not soft, others soft but not too soft) and thinks maybe you do that with eggs as well. Castiel pulls out a carton, opens it, grabs an egg, and learns that you do not in fact squeeze eggs to find out if they’re good.

He picks up a single can of chili. He’s not sure why.

Now that his handbasket is precariously full, Castiel figures he’s purchased nearly everything he needs to replenish the Winchesters’ kitchen: beef jerky; eleven eggs; powdered donuts; pornography; toilet paper; beer; and 10.5 ounces of chili. Also 12 bottles of assorted motor oil. The only thing still missing is the pie.

As Cas sets his basket down on the counter he looks over at the cylindrical pastry case at the end, expecting to begin a careful examination of each and every pie therein so that he may be sure he chose the best possible one for Dean. The sign above it says “Pie!” in large cheerful letters but the case is empty.

“Where is it?” Castiel asks the cashier.

“Dude?” The cashier, who’s been watching this weird and definitely stoned guy wander around the store for the past twenty minutes, is really not in the mood for this right now.

“Where is the pie? Do you have pie?”

“Man, I don’t know,” the cashier gestures over at the empty pie case. “I mean, I guess not.”

For a brief moment the two men just stare at each other, Castiel trying to figure out how he can possibly improve Dean’s day without access to pie. Maybe he could send Dean back in time to the Old West again; Dean had been very excited about that last time. Or they could get ejected from another den of iniquity. That had been fun for Dean (though frankly terrifying for Cas). No, these plans are too elaborate and one of them includes the risk of reintroducing smallpox to the 21st century. Cas wants something simple, a small gesture that will seem like a grand one for just the right man. 

(The thought of simply going somewhere else to get pie does not occur to Castiel.)

As Castiel stands there and contemplates the complex joys and disappointments of one Dean Winchester, Righteous Man, he’s vaguely aware that a charge is growing in the air. The cashier seems to look a little more awake than he did a few seconds ago, so maybe he’s aware of it too. And of the light in the store somehow getting a bit brighter while the shadows behind Cas get deeper and darker until they almost seem to gain physical substance.

“...Wings?” the cashier mouths.

“You don’t understand,” Castiel growls, abruptly leaning forward and grabbing the cashier by the front of his cheap blue vest, voice and eyes full of celestial intent. “I _NEED_ pie.” 

“Oh oh, I---” Cas loosens his grip, realizing that he’s just summoned the full wrath of an angel of the lord right here in the middle of a crappy corner store and that smiting this convenience store clerk is probably not the best course of action for a few different reasons: 1. It’s generally considered rude to smite strangers; and 2. Cas would have to look for the pie himself and he has _no_ idea where to start. “I could check in the back. Like, I don’t know if we have any but we might? What kind did you want?”

Cas leans back a little and ponders the question for a moment, suddenly seeming much less dangerous than he did a moment ago. “Cherry.”

“You want a cherry pie?”

“Yes, it is the pie he sings about.”

“I… don’t know what that means. But uh, I’ll go see what’s back there.” The cashier gives Castiel a wide berth and a wary look as he comes out from behind the register and heads to the back of the store.

Cas stands there silently examining the wide array of contraceptives hanging on the wall, then moves on to the cigarettes, and is squinting intently at a package of “Boner Blasterz” when the clerk returns carrying a white box stamped with the name of a local bakery. “These,” Castiel gestures to the pills, “do not actually increase blood flow to the penis, and human flesh is certainly not malleable enough to withstand being stretched as much as would be necessary to fulfill these claims.” Cas’ face is scrunched up in thought as he gives serious consideration to the tensile strength of various human organs and structures. Unfortunately, Cas’ “thinking face” looks to anyone who doesn’t know him like an “I’m contemplating your imminent demise” face, so now the cashier is looking at Castiel with open alarm.

Castiel blinks himself out of his reverie, tilts his head, squints even more (how is that possible?) and realizes something is bothering the clerk. “Oh it’s alright,” Cas soothes, though the cashier does not look at all convinced. “I have money.”

“No dude, it’s cool, just take your pie and get out of here man. Don’t murder me.”

“Of course I will not murder you,” Cas looks down at the clerk’s nametag, “ _Chris_.” Somehow this absolutely fails to make Chris feel better.

Cas has a less than complete grasp on the fundamentals of financial transactions, but he’s seen Dean leave money on diner tables enough times to know that the process involves neither waiting to be told a number nor waiting to find out if you’ve guessed the correct number. This doesn’t make a lot of sense to Cas, but he trusts that Dean knows what he’s doing so he grabs all the individually wadded up bills in his coat pocket, dumps them in a tidy pile on the counter, picks up the handbasket and the pie, and walks out of the store.

Once outside, Cas blips out of sight. No one notices because the crowd of bystanders is entirely focused on the distraught truck driver yelling about a tax accountant who he swears appeared out of thin air.

\--------------------------

When Castiel reappears in the bunker, Dean and Sam are sitting at the map table, piles of books and file folders spread out before them. Sam is unsurprisingly engrossed in whatever he’s reading; Dean is not. He has something open in front of him as well but is ignoring it in favor of absentmindedly pushing one of the colored plastic rings that serve no discernable purpose back and forth over South America. 

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, “I checked the garage but you were no longer there.”

“Yeah, _research_.” Dean waves a hand over the table and doesn’t look up from the research he’s definitely not doing. “What’s the deal with the motor oil, Cas?”

“Oh um, there were many varieties and I wasn’t sure which was the correct one.”

Sam finally glances up from his book, looking tired and unwell and probably a little apprehensive too because Cas can’t seem to talk to Dean anymore without irritating him. “What is that?” Sam gestures at the bundle in Cas’ arms.

“You were out of food and I wanted to help. Also uh,” Cas’ voice gets quieter as he rushes through these last three words, “Dean needs pie.”

Sam lets out a huff and quickly turns away so Dean, who has now very much looked up from the table, won’t see the small smile that’s spread across his face. 

Dean looks torn. He really, _really_ wants to stay mad at Cas, but he’s also never turned down a pie in his life. Cas is just staring at him all puppy-dog eyes and pouty mouth, Sam thinks he’s hiding that smirk better than he actually is, and Dean’s maybe kind of salivating at this point because he smells---

“Cherry… Did you get me a whole cherry pie, Cas?” And now Dean’s standing up and walking around the table and his shoulders don’t seem quite so tight anymore and his demeanor isn’t stiff and closed. He’s happy and relaxed and he’s about to get some _pie_ and Castiel knows he did good. For once, he did good. 

Sam picks up on something and decides it’s a good time to make a graceful exit, so he takes the handbasket from Cas (“Cas, you’re not supposed to take these with you, ya know.”) and heads off to the kitchen. Before he gets too far, Dean catches a glimpse of Miss November leering at him from inside the basket and calls Sam back.

“Hey hey hey hold up there Sammy, I see a little somethin’ else with my name on it,” Dean slips his hand in the basket and pulls it back out with a grin, balancing pie in one hand and brandishing porn in the other and looking extremely pleased about both. 

Sam wastes no time making his way to the kitchen, a quiet, incredulous “Oh my god he bought him _porn_ ” drifting out of him as he leaves.

“Get me a fork!” Dean shouts after Sam while Cas makes a place for the pie on the table.

Dean sets the pie down so he can flip through the copy of _Busty Asian Beauties_. He doesn’t get very far before it falls open to the _Playgirl_ that had been tucked inside. Castiel pointedly does not watch what happens next, but every fiber of his multidimensional being is tuned on Dean at this moment. He hears a small gasp, stifled milliseconds after the air begins to pass Dean’s parted lips.

“Um, Cas?” 

“Yes, Dean?”

“You bought...” Dean clears his throat. “Why is this in here?”

Castiel lets himself look at Dean now and tries to figure out what exactly the expression on his face might mean. A lot of things, including the tiniest hint of hope and relief, but more than anything, reluctance. Maybe a little bit of panic too. Dean’s a man who doesn’t feel safe unless he’s calculated an escape route, and right now Dean looks trapped. The kindest thing Cas can do for him is give him an out.

Cas stands up straight, looks Dean directly in the eye, and grabs the copy of _Playgirl_ from between the pages of the other magazine. “That’s for me. I uh, I wanted to learn more about human sexuality.” Cas has never been a particularly skilled liar but this time he might have managed to pull it off because Dean looks… Is that disappointment? “You said men don’t talk about pornography together and so I thought the magazine could...” Cas trails off. He’s _really_ not a good liar and Dean still looks like Cas didn’t give him quite the escape route he was hoping for, so Cas tries again. “Um, maybe we could look at it together. For educational purposes.”

Dean licks his lips and peels his eyes away from Cas and over toward the hallway, making sure Sam’s still in the kitchen or wherever it is he went off to, and then looks back at the angel standing awkwardly before him. Silently, Dean pulls the _Playgirl_ out of Cas’ still-closed hand and tucks it carefully back into the other magazine. “For educational purposes.”

Before Dean can turn away to take his secret and not-so-secret stash back to his bedroom, Cas says, a note of triumph in his voice, “I thought you’d like the cowboy.”

Dean grins, summons up a top-shelf wink, and walks out of the map room shouting “Sam! _FORK!_ ”

Sam, who’s been standing unseen in the hallway for the last few minutes, fork in hand, shakes his head, smiles, and huffs out a “Finally.”

**Author's Note:**

> The banana thing is actually something that happened to me (minus using angelic powers to change the sign, obviously). Why, airport Starbucks selling 2 bananas for $2? Why?
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it, kudos and comments are always appreciated!


End file.
